Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_05 (19 page)

I'd not expected this assembly, but, if I could, I would use it to advantage. Obviously, Maria Elena had called the family into council. I didn't know how long they'd been gathered, what had been said. I had to tread carefully. All I had to help me was my conviction that Ed Schmidt had stolen the antique gold and that
Julian Worth was pushed to his death. I felt certain that my claims about the gold and about Worth would never be repeated by Borroel. He didn't believe me, and he never volunteered information. Rick and Iris had lied and lied about the gold. I didn't need to worry about them telling anyone. I would hoard my knowledge until I could use it with force. But for now—

“I've just come from the police station.” I may not often have an audience, but I knew how to capture this one. I spoke distinctly, forcefully, and with measured cadence. “Detective Borroel will consult with the district attorney's office tomorrow about bringing charges against Manuel.”

Manuel's smile never wavered.

Maria Elena's face aged as I watched, her cheeks sagging, her lips drooping. But it wasn't Maria Elena who mattered, not at this moment. Frank stared at the floor. Isabel toyed with a lock of her honey bright hair, her face remote. Tom looked anxiously at his grandmother. Celestina's eyes narrowed behind her wire-rimmed glasses. Tony glanced at Manuel, looked quickly away, his face in a troubled frown. Rick clenched his hands into tight fists, his eyes dark with horror. Iris shuddered. Magda clasped her hands tightly together, looked toward Manuel in dismay. Susana rubbed the rim of the vase, around and around, but she watched her husband, not Manuel.

I pointed at Manuel, resting contentedly near his mother. “If anyone here can tell us anything about Ed Schmidt, now is the time. If not, the police are going to arrest Manuel, take him to jail, take his clothes away, put him in coveralls—”

Maria Elena, bred to courtesy, always thoughtful of others, was too distraught to wait for me to finish. She broke in, “Please, please, my children, speak. One of
you knows why that man was in Tesoros. Tell me.” Maria Elena's voice was high, quavering. She looked deep into the eyes of each of her children and their spouses.

The silence was taut, pulsing with alarm and with fear. When no one spoke, Maria Elena spread out her arms in appeal.

“Mother.” Frank was across the room, reaching out to his mother.

She held up both hands and he stopped a foot away, his head jerking back as if he'd been slapped.

I threw gasoline on the open flame. “Frank knew Ed Schmidt. Frank, why did you meet with Schmidt?” He was as good a place to start as any.

Frank's uncertain face turned ashy white. He looked stunned, a fighter popped by an uppercut he never saw.

Isabel was on her feet and across the room with the lithe ferocity of a jungle cat. Her delicate face sharpened by rage, her sultry eyes glistening with icy deliberation, she came to her husband, gripped his arm, then faced the others. “All of you dealt with Ed. I know it and I won't stand here and let Frank be treated like a common criminal. All of you had dealings with Ed. Oh, no one spoke about it. Of course not. You”—an accusing finger pointed at Maria Elena—“expected Tesoros to make money, but you forbade Tony to buy from Ed. We've missed out on a lot of money that could have been made. But we all knew who to call when we wanted a little something special and we wanted it cheap, cheap, cheap. Nobody was better than Ed at bringing home a shipment of goods with a few extras well hidden.” She tossed her thick mane of burnished honey hair. “Ask Tony about the silver bracelets for all his little friends. Ask Susana about the marijuana that she keeps in a coconut bank carved like
a dancing dog. Ask Celestina about that garnet necklace, the heavy beaten-silver one—”

Celestina jumped to her feet, shouting, “That's a lie, a lie, a lie,” but she didn't look toward her mother.

Tony jammed a hand through his thick black curls. He, too, avoided his mother's gaze. And his wife's cold measuring glance. He blustered, “If a man can't deal occasionally with an old friend, I don't know what the world's coming to. Ed had some good deals sometimes. What's wrong with that?” His voice trailed away and he pulled at the collar of his knit sport shirt.

“Cocaine?” Maria Elena's face was terrible in its anger.

“Mother, no. Never.” Frank faced her, his trembling hand outstretched.

“Absurd,” Celestina sniffed, but her eyes slid hungrily from one face to another.

“Bracelets, not drugs.” Tony almost managed his usual insouciant smile. “Come on, Mama, you know us better than that. And the police looked, they looked everywhere. Nothing.”

Frank said urgently, “Tony's right, Mother. The police checked every vase, every corner, every shelf in the storeroom. There are no drugs in Tesoros. Someone got them from Iris, and who knows where they are. But it doesn't have anything to do with us.”

I knew better. It had everything to do with Tesoros because it was gold and not cocaine. The timing of the theft, the arrival of the gold last week, all proved, at least to me, that Tesoros was the very heart of the scheme, Tesoros and its annual auction that drew a handful of very, very rich collectors, gave those collectors a bona fide reason to be in La Mariposa. Someone in this room was at ease because the mission had been accomplished. There was no gold found in the
police search because one of the Garzas had already made delivery.

Susana said sharply, “Ed Schmidt was a terrible man. He may have put drugs in that wardrobe simply to involve Tesoros. He was jealous of us. He hated us. And what if he somehow got a key to Tesoros? What if he came in that night and Manuel found him and—” She broke off when Maria Elena's head swiveled toward her. “Or,” she said hurriedly, “maybe someone was with him and they quarreled about the drugs and that person killed him.”

Isabel looked around the room, at the stricken faces of her husband's siblings, and smiled, a slow, satisfied smile full of malice.

“Someone, someone,” Maria Elena said bitterly. “We have to find this person. Don't you see? If we don't—”Her voice broke.

“Mother, Tony and I will see to it,” Frank said importantly. “We'll hire a private detective, see what we can find out about Ed. Don't you worry. We know Manuel could never hurt anyone. It will all come right.” His voice had the same tone a parent uses to dismiss fears of the bogeyman.

“Tomorrow.” Maria Elena pressed her hand against her trembling lips. She looked down at Manuel.

Manuel smiled and it was as if a shaft of sunlight pierced a purple cloud. He was a center of light, surrounded by darkness.

That smile caused an instant of stricken silence, then voices sounded together. Susana insisted, “There had to be someone with Ed.” Celestina snapped, “Why borrow trouble? They can't prove anything about Manuel!” “We all know it wasn't Manuel,” Magda said sharply. Tony shrugged. “Who knows what will turn up?” Isabel favored Tony with a smile, her venom
spent. Frank's shoulders slumped. He looked at his mother hopefully. “Don't worry, Mother, Tony and I'll see to everything tomorrow. And now, we'd better go. You're tired. We'll see to everything tomorrow.” And he turned away. Celestina was already scooting through the archway, Susana close behind. Tony clapped his hands. “Remember, tomorrow afternoon everybody needs to be on hand to help with the auction preview.” Isabel added cheerily, “And, of course, we're having the party tomorrow night.” Only Rick and Iris and Tom were silent, Rick staring at the floor, his mouth a tight line, Iris clutching his arm and looking up at him anxiously, Tom hurrying after his parents.

I stepped to one side of the archway as they fled the room. Rick was moving fast, pushing Iris ahead of him.

I stepped in front of him. “Oh, Rick, Iris. I've missed seeing you all day.” I gave them a bright smile, clearly visible to Maria Elena.

Rick was trying to sidestep.

I turned, slipped my arm through his and said low enough that only he could hear, “Come to my room. Make sure no one sees you. If you do not come within fifteen minutes, I will return here and tell Maria Elena about the gold.”

A bolt of electricity couldn't have shocked him more. His face looked like putty in a hot sun, gray and soft.

I gave his arm a squeeze, flashed another smile for any watching eyes, though the others seemed to have left without paying any attention to us, then turned back toward Maria Elena.

She was at the fireplace, looking up at a portrait of all the family.

In the sudden quiet after the departure of the others, my shoes clicked loudly on the tile floor.

She faced me, and I was shocked at how old and frail she appeared.

I wished I could promise success. I couldn't do that. “Maria Elena, I know you might be tempted to cancel the auction preview tomorrow afternoon if Manuel is arrested. Please don't do that. Keep everything on schedule.”

Her eyes blazed with sudden hope. “What are you going to do?”

I was not as old as she, but my bones ached with fatigue. I was guessing and groping. I didn't dare tell her what I hoped to do. I answered indirectly. “My husband was a correspondent in England during World War Two. He covered the Battle of Britain. Whenever things got really tough later in life, he said he remembered the RAF pilots. When the sirens pealed, they ran to their Spitfires and went up against enormous odds, time after time. They called it scrambling.” I took a deep breath. “I'm going to scramble.”

 

I opened my door at the whisper of a rap.

Rick and Iris slid inside.

I waved Iris toward the bed, Rick to the easy chair. I remained standing.

Rick rubbed hard at his goatee. “Look, Mrs. Collins, we've got to get it straight. There was cocaine in the wardrobe.” He looked at me earnestly, eyes wide, long face solemn.

I almost told him he'd better study politicians at press conferences if he intended to make a career of lying. But there was no time to waste. “Give it up, Rick. I know. I was on the wire desk at my daughter's newspaper when the stories came over about the rob
bery at the National Museum of Anthropology. The thief took his pick from the greatest collection of ancient gold ever placed on exhibit. That thief was Ed Schmidt. He brought the gold to Tesoros and someone hid it in the wardrobe. Rick, that someone comes from a short list—Frank, Isabel, Celestina, Tony, Susana.” I looked at his young, frantic face and wondered if I should add his name to that list. But first there was something I had to know, a fact that would determine everything I was going to say to Rick. “Rick, where were you and Iris this afternoon?”

“This afternoon—” He looked bewildered at my sudden shift.

“Between two-thirty and three-thirty?” That was when Julian Worth died. I watched his face and Iris's.

Iris's face flushed, a becoming rose stained her cheeks. She jerked her eyes away from me, stared fixedly at her hands clasped in her lap.

Rick avoided my gaze, too. “Well,” he mumbled, “we were at Iris's place. Uh, we cleaned up the mess. Yeah, we put everything back where it belonged.”

I grinned. No wonder the phone went unanswered when I called Iris's apartment. Thank God for sex. I liked these kids. I wanted them to be happy. How sweet that they were old-fashioned enough to be uncomfortable at the prospect of discussing afternoon delight with Iris's grandmother's best friend. No doubt they would have been shocked had I told them I hoped they always found such pleasure together.

I made it easy. “Oh yes,” I said briskly, “the apartment needed a lot of work. But you're certain of the time?”

Iris leaned forward eagerly, the becoming flush beginning to fade. “Oh, yes, I'm sure. On our way home, we passed the high school not far from where I live
and the kids were coming out and that means it had to be two-thirty.” She looked at Rick. “Don't you remember?”

Rick scratched his goatee. “I wasn't paying any attention, but it was the middle of the afternoon.” I understood. He was not at that point a young man with time on his mind.

Iris's transparent relief in focusing on a subject far, far from their activity at the apartment sealed my conviction they were indeed at her apartment during the critical period. And that's all I needed to know to be sure it was not Rick who conspired with Ed Schmidt, not Rick who pushed an old man down steep metal steps.

“I'm glad you were not here.” I looked at them gravely. “The murderer killed again this afternoon.”

Rick jerked forward in his chair. Iris gasped.

“This morning I talked to an old friend of Ed's. I told him about the gold—”

Rick winced.

“—he won't give you away, Rick. He won't give anyone away. He came to Tesoros this afternoon. He went from one person to another—Frank, Isabel, Celestina, Tony, Susana—and minutes later, he was dead at the foot of the circular staircase.”

Rick came to his feet, pulling air into his lungs. “God, you scared me for a minute. Look, I heard all about it. Some old man got dizzy—”

“He got pushed.” I walked close to him, looked up into dark, worried eyes. “How much help are you going to give a killer, Rick?”

He pressed his fingers hard against his face, let his hands fall. “No, no.”

“The same person hid the gold in the wardrobe, Rick.”

He reached out, grabbed one of the bedposts, held tight. “It's too late,” he said dully. “The police searched. They looked everywhere, Celestina told me about it. If the”—he paused, still unwilling to admit to the gold—“the stuff's gone, what difference will it make now what it was?”

“It makes a difference. It makes a hell of a difference to you and Iris.” My voice was cold. My eyes bored into his. “You do realize, Rick, that you and Iris committed a felony by taking possession of goods you knew to be stolen; goods, in fact, that not only were stolen but were priceless objects being hunted by police around the world.”